Matching Maureen
by YoungBoho
Summary: Maureen plays matchmaker for two unsuspecting roommates with her latest protest. AUish MaurMarRog & slight MoJo, Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: It's not mine. Thank you Jonathan Larson.

**Matching Maureen **

**Summary**: Maureen plays inadvertent matchmaker for two unsuspecting roommates with her latest protest. AUish Maur/Mar/Rog & Mo/Jo, Two-shot

"Pooky I swear-"

"Don't _pooky_ me Maureen, I'm sick of this, of you constantly stringing me along, toying with me. I'm done; I can't do it anymore,"

"Just let me explain!"

"There's nothing to explain, they were all over you,"

"Yeah but-"

"And you did nothing to stop it,"

"But-"

"Don't even deny that you weren't enjoying it," Joanne said in a dangerously calm tone, taking a step towards Maureen. "I saw that look on your face,"

"Joanne _listen_ to me-"

"We're over,"

Tears of frustration had sprouted in the diva's heavily lined eyes. Maureen wasn't accustomed to not being allowed to speak, especially when what she had to say was of vital importance (which was most of the time).

"I can't believe you could just throw this away after everything we've been through together. I thought we were going to be okay, and then you go and do something like this,"

"Joanne-"

"Goodbye Maureen,"

The tears escaped their eyelash prison, caught by high cheekbones and plump lips. Maureen stood by helplessly as Joanne, the one person she ever _truly _loved stormed out of the apartment, and out of her life, forever.

**A Few Hours Earlier…**

"Come on pooky can you please do this for me?"

"Maureen, I'm really not comfortable-"

"Mark, I need you,"

"Why can't you get someone else?"

"Jesus Mark, I can't just go pick some random person on the street; I need someone I trust,"

"You trust Joanne, get her to do it for you,"

Mark knew better than to try and brush off the pushy drama queen. He understood better than anyone how determined she was to get her own way.

Maureen will stop at nothing.

Still, he did his best to distract himself from her whiny demands, trying to focus on a few frames of footage he had cut earlier, and were now replaying over and over in an endless loop, waiting to be tied into his latest film.

"She would never go for it; you're the only one who can pull this off,"

"Maureen, I'm trying to-"

"Please Mark, I never ask you for anything, just do this one teeny, tiny favor for me,"

"No, it'll be too awkward,"

"It's only going to be as awkward as you make it out to be, it's not like we've never done this before,"

"Well I don't remember ever _performing _it for an audience,"

"But that's the whole point! People act like sex is some taboo thing that has to be ignored. We're going to show the world that it's a natural, beautiful, act and it should be celebrated not shunned,"

"And you need me why?"

"Because you have a penis!"

"I don't get it… you're a lesbian,"

"Yeah, so?"

"…Why aren't you staging your protest with a woman instead of a man,"

"Because I'm protesting sexual boundaries!" Maureen shouted, waving her arms about for dramatic effect. "I'm breaking the stereotype that lesbians only have sex with other women,"

"…lesbians _do _only have sex with other women,"

"You see, that's the exact thing I want to protest. Everyone is so black and white when it comes to sex. It's not right,"

"So you want to have sex with a man, onstage, in front of people, to protest the stereotype that lesbians only have sex with women?"

"_No_! The whole point is freedom. People should be able to have sex with whoever they want without a label,"

"So you're saying everyone should be bi?"

"You're missing the point completely Marky-"

"Don't call me Marky,"

"Fine, _Mark_, I'm protesting people limiting their sexual freedom because of society's expectations,"

"…I still don't get it,"

"Ugh, Mark you're so damn thick sometimes. You'll understand when you see it all together,"

"Uh…"

"Now go get Roger and we'll start rehearsing,"

"Wait, Roger's in on this?!"

"Yeah, I asked him last night,"

"He's… like the director or something, right?"

"Ew, no! Why would I have Roger direct?" Maureen said disgusted. "He's in the protest,"

"Like… _in it,_ in it?" Mark's face had taken on an impressive shade of scarlet at the newest development in Maureen's scheme.

"Of course,"

"I can't do it,"

"The protest is about breaking through these boundaries Marky. I'm a lesbian messing around with men, and you're two "straight" guys fooling around,"

"No way,"

"Oh come on, it's not like you're actually going to have sex with anyone on stage, it's all metaphorical,"

"I don't care,"

"It'll be fun,"

"Ha,"

It was at that time Roger chose to emerge from his bedroom in nothing but low riding sweatpants. Last night's grime shone shimmered on his skin and through his hair. He was dirty, disgusting, smelled like yesterday's curdled milk, and Mark was inexplicably attracted.

Despite the fresh, chilly spring air, the filmmaker found himself suddenly breaking into a hot sweat.

"You guys ready to get the show on the road?"

"What?!" If Mark wasn't wearing glasses, his eyes would have fallen out of his head and been lost in the muck that covered every spare inch of the loft. "You're actually going along with this?"

"Why not?" Roger shrugged, sinewy muscles twisting brilliantly under a thin layer of white skin.

Mark's blush grew deeper.

"See, Roger has an open mind," Maureen cut in.

"Yeah, he also lost half of his brain cells to heroin,"

"Watch it," he shot the filmmaker a gaze fierce enough to stop a train.

"Don't be so defensive Marky. Be open, like Roger," she said, sending the musician a blinding grin of approval. "Think of it as a new experience,"

"Come on Mark, it'll be fun," Roger coaxed.

The filmmaker swallowed harshly and averted his eyes from his roommates' incredibly toned torso.

He couldn't help but think how Roger hadn't earned his physique. Excessive amounts of drugs and alcohol and laziness should have ruined the musician's body, yet here he was in all his perfect, half-naked glory.

It wasn't fair.

"I don't think so,"

Better safe than sorry.

"_Please_ pooky,"

Falling to her knees, Maureen clutched Mark's legs tightly, refusing to relinquish them until he agreed to perform in her protest.

He had long ago learned to ignore the diva's over-dramatic theatrics.

"Why the hell would you ever agree to this?" Mark asked Roger who had buried himself inside the broken refrigerator, searching for nonexistent food. His dirty head popped out of the appliance and turned to face his best friend.

The only response Roger offered was the combination of a strange grimace and shrug, before immediately returning to his quest for food,

Mark sighed.

"I need to get drunk,"

**I am well aware of the extreme "crack" factor of this fic… and I don't really care all that much. **

**Reviews are Love!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: It's not mine. Thank you Jonathan Larson.

_Italix are MARK'S thoughts_

**Matching Maureen**

**Chapter Two**

"Come on Maureen just have one drink,"

"I can't, then we'd _all_ be drunk stupid,"

"That's the point," Roger said, taking another gulp of Collins' secret (but not really) stash of stoli.

"Well then who would run rehearsal?" she asked in a tone resembling that of a condescending adult talking to a small, incompetent child.

"I will," the rocker stood up waving the invaluable bottle through the air, stumbling his way towards Maureen.

For being one who parties, on average, six nights a week, Roger was quite the light-weight.

Meanwhile, Mark had yet to part lips with a very large cup of vodka. He wasn't chugging the fiery liquid, only drinking it at a slow steady rate, quickly rendering himself inebriated. Alcohol and intoxication were going to do all of the thinking for him tonight.

It was just easier this way. Roger was becoming increasingly attractive the more shit-faced Mark got, and the vodka was accompanied by a plethora of excuses for potential behavior.

He hadn't planned on anything happening but, just in case, he took another large gulp, wincing as the fire slid down his throat, exploding in his stomach.

Better safe than sorry.

"Marky you're being awful quiet," Maureen prodded the filmmaker with her toe.

Muddled, blue eyes lurched up to meet hers. "Wha?" the world was spinning around him, always changing, constantly moving.

Alcohol tended to have this affect on him, which is why he rarely drank.

"We better cut you off, you're not going to be able to stand up on your own let alone rehearse," she said removing the vodka from his unsteady hands.

"No, Roger… he'll k-keep m' up," Mark stammered smiling at the musician who was occupied with sucking the last few drops of stoli from the clear bottle. "Just give it back t'me,"

"_After _we practice Marky,"

The filmmaker's eyes attempted to focus as his temporarily befuddled mind tried to assess the situation.

_Maureen's protest. Sex. Freedom. Bi? Maureen. Mark. Roger. Sex. Metaphor. Roger. Protest. Roger. Sex. Roger. Sex. Alcohol._

"Gimme back my drink,"

"I promise I'll give it back to you as soon as rehearsal's over," Maureen replied with a reassuring pat on the head. Mark groaned at the contact as each touch brought with it a nauseating wave of vertigo.

"Let's do this!" Roger exclaimed, discarding the now bone-dry bottle of stoli, as well as his pants.

"Roger!" Maureen yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"

Mark said nothing, only gaped open-mouthed at his roommate, finally understanding why he was front-man for a band called the _Well Hung_arians. A warmth deeper, and darker, than alcohol, began stirring within him.

"Aren't we gonna get it on?" he punctuated his question with a high pitched hiccup, further evidence of his incredibly intoxicated state of mind.

_Take advantage!_

Further evidence of Mark's incredibly intoxicated state of mind.

"Put your pants on Roger," Maureen sighed exasperated, rubbing brown eyes with long, fiery-red nails.

"But I thought-"

"Why can't anyone here grasp the concept of a god damned metaphor!?" she yelled obviously annoyed at having to explain the point of her protest once again.

Mark hadn't blinked since Roger's pants came off. The strain caused water to begin to well up and seep out from behind thick lenses.

He'd caught glimpses before as Roger moved from bathroom to bedroom, but never a full-on _Roger_ sighting. The warmth inside quickly became a heat.

It could have been the alcohol. It also could have been the presence of his naked roommate. Either way, Mark suddenly wasn't feeling nearly as hesitant to partake in Maureen's latest project.

"Okay… les go," Mark said, swaying as he climbed onto unstable legs.

Roger was fumbling shamelessly into his pants, not noticing his roommate watching him with hungry eyes.

"Finally!" Maureen shouted, glad that Mark had finally committed to her protest.

A cloud of brown dust lifted into the air followed by a series of grunts and snorts as Roger fell to the ground, wrestling the moth eaten sweatpants back onto his legs while his two friends looked on, offering no assistance. Mark was even lucid enough to be amused at the struggle.

After ripping several new holes in the already tattered pants, Roger finally managed to return them to his body.

"Okay I'm ready," he said exhausted, shuffling and swaying his way onto bare feet.

Watching Roger fight his way into a pair of pants that had more holes than swiss cheese made Maureen wonder whether or not rehearsing was such a good idea when her two performers were in such a pathetic state. She hadn't intended to let them slip into such drastic states of intoxication.

It was doubtful that either of them would even remember what it was they were supposed to do.

The two roommates were standing next to each other awaiting instructions: Roger bare-chested and beautiful, Mark red-faced and giddy. Each wore expressions of naïve innocence and looked more like children first learning of Santa Claus than the drunken stupid men that they had reduced themselves to.

Never mind, they were in the perfect state of mind for this.

Maureen smiled to herself. She was their caretaker, and they were going to do whatever she told them to.

Another perfectly executed plan.

"Alright boys, I guess we'll start with…"

**So I'm having too much fun writing this stupid, pointless, crack-fic to make it a 2-shot, so it's been extended to a 4-shot. **

**Hopefully it's as much fun to read as it is to write.**

**Reviews are Love!**

**Question: is Roger too ooc??**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: It's not mine. Thank you Jonathan Larson.

**Matching Maureen**

**Chapter Three**

The sun was beginning to set over the city, sending streamers of florescent orange light floating through grungy glass into the loft. Everything was distorted in its strange light. Gold reflected from Maureen's eyes, which, at the moment, were shooting sparks at the intoxicated members of her cast.

"No Marky, you grab onto _Roger_, not me!"

"Mph, but you're in the way," he grunted, as his body weight collapsed onto her further.

"That's the point, you have to put your arms around me and grab onto him," brown curls lurched in the direction of the now stagnant rock-god.

They were huddled in a tight group, Maureen facing Roger, while Mark more-or-less _leaned_ against her back, more to keep himself upright, than anything else.

Instructions had flown past Maureen's lips faster than he was able to comprehend. Mark did his best to follow orders, but by the time her direction reached his ears, she had already changed her mind leaving him completely behind the curve.

A pair of sinewy hands draped loosely around his waist were yet another distraction, keeping his focus away from Maureen's rambling tirade. He was supposed to be caressing her shoulder in "one thousand sweet kisses," but standing upright was almost too much for Mark. His thoughts were divided between the feeling of Roger's arms around him, and the room orbiting rapidly around the trio keeping him constantly off-balance. Maureen's instructions had yet to take root in his mind.

A deep heat was spreading beneath Roger's fingertips, sending waves of relaxation dispersing throughout the filmmaker, making it that much more difficult to stand up on his own.

Roger was holding him. If nothing else, that small caress was enough. Mark was in his arms… sort of.

"Okay, Mark would you _please_ just stand up by yourself," Maureen said already on the edge of her very short temper. Her scheme was quite obviously beginning to backfire.

Mark grunted some sort of response and leaned into her further, imagining that it was Roger pulling him in for a tighter embrace.

It was then Mark felt two hands grab onto his thin shoulders and roughly push him back, out of Roger's grasp.

"Stand. Up." Maureen said, clutching tightly to her final thread of self control.

She then turned back to Roger in order to instruct him on their next movement.

Unfortunately, the musician had other ideas as his lips sloppily mashed against her own in a wet, loud, kiss. Brown eyes protruded in surprise while hooded, green eyes drooped lower into their drunken, happy, state.

Mark looked on helplessly as Roger's mouth devoured his ex-girlfriend.

Muttering something like "Mine," Mark immediately returned to his previous position, leaning heavily on Maureen, which inadvertently deepened the kiss. Ignoring her muffled protests, he grabbed Roger's arms and returned them to their place on his waist, tightly sealing the three of them together.

His eyes latched onto Roger's lips, watching as they lazily pressed and sucked at Maureen's resistant mouth. In a matter of seconds a very familiar appendage was prodding against her lower back.

That was the final straw for Maureen.

With the grace of a camel suddenly being dumped into the ocean, Maureen managed to twist and stumble out from between Roger and Mark.

"What is the matter with you?" she yelled. "This is a _performance rehearsal_, not an excuse to get all over me. I'm a lesbian for Christ's sake,"

"Then why aren't there girls in your show?" Roger pointed out, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his tongue was halfway down her throat only seconds before. He was standing shoulder to shoulder to Mark, who was completely focused on the fact that Roger's mouth was free and clear, to pay any attention to the verbal tirade Maureen had unleashed.

"-I can't believe I thought you two were mature enough to handle this. I should have held auditions if I wanted someone professional enough to work in these types of situations. Are you even listening-"

"Was I not supposed to kiss her?" Roger's warm, rank, breath tickled the tiny hairs that covered Mark's ear lobe when he whispered in his ear.

Mark shrugged while, unbeknownst to Roger, his erection sealed into a seemingly permanent fixture.

"-No you weren't supposed to kiss me!" Maureen yelled. Apparently Roger wasn't as quiet as he had thought. "You two are fucking hopeless… I can't believe I even… Ugh!"

Both Mark and Roger watched indifferently as Maureen made a skeptical of herself storming out of the loft. They could still hear her after she had reached the street eleven stories below.

"So…" Roger said walking to the window.

Mark groaned, and stayed put. Moving was not an option right now. He was still drunk and already feeling the effects of the impending hangover, not to mention his incredibly obvious, and uncomfortable, condition.

Roger circled Mark and suddenly placed his chin atop his small shoulder. Mark jumped at the sudden renewal of contact.

"Why'd she have to go and leave when we were just starting to have fun?" Roger whined. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he gestured to a large bulge that was almost bursting through his flight.

Mark's eyes opened wide in hope and realization.

"Lemme-" he said as his vocal cords finally remembered how to work.

Roger didn't hesitate and began to walk toward him slowly, smirking, intentionally swaying his hips in the most seductive strut Mark had ever seen. Eyelids disappeared altogether while his heart stopped beating and began to hum instead.

Lips were centimeters from his flushed skin. Roger was close enough for Mark to count his pores, and he still moved in. Mark's breathing increased to match his heartbeat. His hands began to shake. Sweat was pouring out of his skin in gallons. Still, Roger moved in closer.

The moment Roger's lips brushed tentatively, against his own, blackness swam into the room, ingesting all of the furniture, papers, wires, equipment- everything. Mark collapsed, slamming hard into the painted floor, finally given into the alcohol's sweet beckoning power.

**Evil ending and depressingly short I know, but hey, at least I updated**

**One more chapter left!**

**Reviews are Love!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: It's not mine. Thank you Jonathan Larson.

_Italix are Mark's thoughts_

**Matching Maureen **

**Chapter Four **

A gentle breeze was periodically brushing against Mark's flushed face, soothing the heavy banging going on inside his head. Warm darkness had enveloped his mind, shielding him from the world that was surely still spinning like a top.

Mark was lying on a soft surface, with a warm blanket holding his small frame. Pulling his knees up into his chest, Mark attempted to curl himself into a tiny ball, shutting out the outside world. It was only then that he realized there was someone else with him. Another body was suddenly occupying the couch next to him.

Mark's eyes shot open, greeted by the sight of Roger's eyes clenched shut while his mouth gaped open, a river of spit streaming out onto the pillow they were sharing. No sound was coming from the cavern, only regular stale gusts of breath- the only indication that Roger was still alive.

The grip on Mark's waist tightened, pulling their bodies closer together, dragging Marks' face closer to the puddle of drool. A rank odor was coming from the musician's sleeping form as Mark wondered when he had last practiced some form of personal hygiene.

He remained motionless, watching Roger sleep, sealing every last detail into his memory. It never occurred to Mark to wonder why Roger had chosen to pass out next to him, or why his arm was draped across his waist like they had been doing it forever. He just assumed that when Roger awoke everything would go back to the way it was before Maureen's stupid protest; with Mark pining and Roger clueless of it.

His hand had unconsciously began tracing Roger's angular features, his jutting chin, his contoured jaw line, his sharp, shapely, nose. The sensitive skin on his fingertips delighted in the different textures of Roger's soft, pink, lips and rough beard that reminded him of coarse sandpaper. Fingers gently caressed Roger's face and neck, as Mark fought the lead that had settled in his gut at the thought of Roger waking up.

He wanted to do this. Fuck everything else.

Mark's palm moved voluntarily, searching out the crevices and perfect flaws that have managed to characterize Roger so well over the years.

"What are you doing?" Roger asked after this had been going on for several minutes. His eyes were still tightly closed and his voice was coarser than the scruff lining his jaw.

Mark's hand shot back as if he had just been struck. The force was enough to knock him off of the couch. He landed on his ass with a hard thump, causing him to wince.

Roger chuckled quietly and brought himself up into a sitting position, elbows resting on his knees with his palms pressed into his forehead.

They had only been passed out for three hours and were already drifting through the worst part of intoxication- that phase when you're still a little drunk, but can feel the hangover coming on.

"Remind me to never drink with Maureen again," he groaned rubbing his head.

"Maureen didn't drink," Mark pointed out. "She just wanted to get us drunk,"

"Whatever," Roger said. "Let's just not do it again. You're a fucking horny drunk,"

Mark cringed inwardly, and still somehow managed to play it off.

"Like you're not. You were the one with your tongue halfway down Maureen's throat,"

"She told me to!" he retorted.

"No Roger, she didn't,"

"Yeah well… fuck you,"

_Yes please_

"I'll pass thanks,"

"Ha,"

Roger's tone was harsh, as if he had known all along that he wanted more than friendship.

Mark was scrambling to think of some sort of witty response to get him off the hook, when the phone rang. Relief surged through his veins as their stupid answering machine echoed through the dirty air in the apartment.

_SPEAK_

"Okay boys, get off each other and answer the phone, we have work to do,"

Leave it to Maureen to make a situation more awkward.

"We need to finish rehearsing, so you both have better sobered up,"

Roger caught Mark's gaze and smirked. They both knew better to question the fact that it was only hours after Maureen had stormed off in a rage and was now demanding their participation as if nothing had happened. Mark returned the grin then turned away, doing his best to hide the rising color in his typically pale cheeks.

"Where are you assholes? Throw down the key already, I'm freezing my tits off,"

"Don't let her in," Roger said quickly.

Mark couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. Knowing Roger, he was probably being serious.

"You know she's just going to keep calling until we give up,"

"She'll run out of quarters eventually,"

"Not Maureen…"

"Seriously Mark, don't do it," Roger grabbed his arm as he passed by on his way to the fire escape. "She's going to… hurt me,"

"Grow up Roger. She's not going to do any permanent damage. Who knows, maybe she even _liked_ the kiss,"

"I hate you,"

"I'll get over it,"

This was the way things were supposed to be- playful banter between friends. That's all they were: friends, buddies, best pals. Mark had been pointlessly trying to convince himself of the fact for months.

He could tell himself that he only felt friendship for Roger a thousand times, but it would never be the truth.

Mark continued towards the fire escape when he felt two familiar hands clasp his waist and spin him around in the other direction. Roger had crept up silently and had dove inside Mark's pants.

"Give it to me Marky,"

"Jesus, give what to you?" Mark said trying to wiggle out of Roger's grasp.

"The key dumb-ass,"

"Roger, get off me,"

"Not until you give me the key," Roger said as his hands moved to the back pockets of Mark's jeans, pressing their chests together. "Where is it?"

"Mark, Roger!" Maureen's sharp voice screeched through the apartment. "You better let me in right now,"

"Roger, we have to give her the key," Mark leaned away from Roger's face which was inches from his own.

He tried not to think about the calloused fingers roaming some of the most sensitive areas of his body.

"She's not getting in here,"

"It's Maureen, of course she's going to find a way in,"

"Got it!" Roger shouted ripping his hands out of Mark's pants and waving the key over his head triumphantly.

"MARKY!!" Maureen's voice crackled over the machine.

He could only imagine what she looked like to anyone passing by on the street.

This day could not have gotten worse. He was forced into a strange protest that made absolutely no sense, was hung over at five in the afternoon, and was now torn between the wrath of Roger and Maureen, each option equally dangerous.

"Roger, I'm not fucking around. Give me the key,"

"No," he smirked like an undisciplined child.

Mark fought the urge to slap him.

"You know you're going to have to face her sometime,"

"No I don't,"

"Give me the key," Mark's voice took on a dangerous monotone. He spoke quietly, all of the stress from the day resonating in those four words. Mark had finally reached his breaking point.

"Make me,"

Roger's grin quickly disappeared when Mark suddenly grabbed two handfuls of the ratty green pullover and threw him onto the couch. His mouth was clenched so tightly the blood had disappeared from his lips. Lines burrowed into his forehead as Mark concentrated on getting the key so he could put this whole day behind him.

_The ends justify the means_

He climbed on top of Roger, reaching for the key which was still perched high in his raised arm. One leg was placed on either side of Roger's as he grabbed for the shiny piece of metal tightly clutched in his fist.

There were no words exchanged, only sharp breaths and grunts as the two men struggled.

It was impossible to tell who kissed who first. One minute Mark was on top of Roger locked in a somewhat friendly wrestling match, the next he's being pressed into the cushions by Roger's face pushing against his own.

Suddenly, he was drunk again.

The world was spinning. He couldn't breathe- he didn't want to breathe. If the only way Mark could get oxygen was to release Roger's lips, then he'd rather suffocate.

Everything he had gone through today was worth this. All of the stress, confusion, _Maureen_, faded from his mind with every surge of pressure coming from Roger's mouth.

Roger's tongue was swirling with his own while their hands roamed each other's shaking bodies.

The tension had evaporated from Mark's body. He was now just a limp form pinned to the couch, absorbing every bit of Roger he could touch.

Then it was over.

"_What are you doing_!?" Maureen's voice was no longer static over their fifteen year old answering machine, but a booming presence inside the room.

For the second time in an hour Mark shot off of the couch onto the floor completely devoid of any semblance of grace or dignity.

"Rehearsing," he said automatically, his voice cracking miserably.

"So that's what we're calling it now," Roger said placing a wet sloppy kiss on the side of his face before standing up to cross the room. "Hey Maureen,"

Mark's heart stopped.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked.

"Oh, I still have a key from when I lived here,"

"Then why did you-"

"So it worked?!" she asked Roger excitedly.

"I don't know," He said, turning his gaze towards Mark "Did it work Mark?"

The filmmaker sat there with his knees bent, back supported by the battered couch as his mind tried, in vain, to wrap around the situation.

"_What_?"

Maureen was starring at him expectantly, while Roger leaned against the table, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did it work?" he repeated.

"Did what work?"

Maureen continued to stare at him, a smile spreading wider as Mark's confusion grew deeper.

"Our plan,"

"What plan? What are you guys talking about," Mark said frustrated.

"Roger said the only way he'd help me with my protest was if I helped him with something,"

"Okay…" Mark said, not quite following. His mind was still swimming in the kiss that Roger had washed over him.

Roger pushed himself off the table and sat on the couch directly behind Mark. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth close to his ear, sending shivers racing down Mark's spine.

"Think about it Marky,"

When Roger's rough hands came to rest on Mark's shoulders everything suddenly became clear.

"You set me up?"

"Yes, wasn't it perfect?!" Maureen squealed, clapping her hands excitedly.

"You mean you… and you… and the kiss-"

"It was all my idea," she said proudly.

"I got to hand it to Maureen," Roger said. "If you need to trick your best friend into a relationship, she's the person to go to,"

Mark couldn't believe this was happening. It was if he was trapped inside the best dream of his life and unable to escape. Everything he had gone through that day had been calculated and planned by the two most unorganized people he knew.

"Are you saying you-"

"Yeah, I am," Roger interrupted smiling. "If you want to anyway,"

"Yeah," Mark said before he was interrupted by Roger's lips against his own.

"Good, now that that's settled, can we _finally_ finish rehearsing? The protest is in a week and we have a lot of ground to cover,"

"Come on Marky," Roger said, pulling him off the ground. "Let's just get this over with,"

The trio spent the next few minutes rehearsing. Maureen was once again between Mark and Roger who kept sneaking quick kisses when she wasn't looking.

It was amazing how quickly Mark was able to get used to the idea of him and Roger _together_. Everything in his life had just suddenly clicked into place.

He had to keep reminding himself to focus on the rehearsal. Each time Roger smiled all concentration was shoved aside. Mark was determined to make this Maureen's best protest yet, even if it meant making of a fool of himself onstage in front of a crowd of strangers.

He owed her, he owed her big time.

Mark even relaxed enough to the point where he was starting to enjoy himself. He liked the feeling of two warm bodies pressed up against him, making him feel secure. It was to the point where he couldn't tell if it was Roger's hand, or Maureen's wrapped around his waist, or who's skin he was massaging with his lips.

_Who cares what the protest is about anymore. This is fun_.

Then Joanne walked into the loft and saw them all tangled together.

Apparently Maureen had forgotten to run her little scheme with Roger by her girlfriend.

After she ran out of the loft, deciding that rehearsal wasn't more important that Joanne, Mark and Roger collapsed together on the couch. They lay there for several minutes, not speaking. Mark's head was pressed against Roger's chest, listening to the combined rhythm of breathing and heartbeat.

He couldn't remember a time when he ever felt happier. For once he wasn't thinking about money, or his career, or disease. He was just there, _being_, nothing else.

Mark was just being there with Roger.

"I think we need to go explain to Joanne what's going on," Roger said softly. "Maureen will probably castrate us if we don't back her up on this,"

"I guess you're right," Mark said groaning as rolled off of Roger.

"Come on, let's go Marky,"

"Don't call me Marky," he smiled before tangling Roger's fingers with his own and pulling him out the door.

**Reviews are Love!! **


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